Of Droids & Meatbags: The Tale of HK47
by Scious
Summary: The life and exploits of everyone's favorite assassin droid, in his own words!  Some moderate violence.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic, nor do I own HK-47, or ANYTHING Star Wars except for my collection of Hasbro merchandise. This story is a simple KOTOR fanfic, and I have/am/will not made/making/make a single penny from it. I'm not a rich man, either, so if you sue me, I won't have much to give. You'll be wasting your time, your money, and (if you have one) your lawyer's time. PLEASE, save us all the trouble.

Author's Notes: I'm a Star Wars freak, biggest one in existance, who just felt like writing from the pov of my favorite killer droid. First fanfic I've published in a LONG time, reviews welcome :D Enjoy!

* * *

Star Wars

Of Droids and Meatbags

The Tale of HK-47

**1**

Initializing...

All systems functional...

Memory Core activating...

Retrieving data...

I am a Hunter-Killer combat droid manufactured by the Sith. I am the personal bodyguard and assassin droid of one Darth Revan, current Dark Lord of the Sith. My designation is HK-47. I have just been activated for the first time.

I inspect myself. I have been equipped with a droid's type three heavy plating, a Universal Computer Interface, a Security Domination Interface, a Superior class targeting computer, a level three environment shield, an advanced flame thrower, and an advanced shield disruptor. Since I only possess two built-in secondary weapon slots, I have several concealed compartments, in which an advanced stun ray, advanced gravity generator, and a carbonite projector mark II wait in reserve. Also in these compartments I find thermal detonators, plasma grenades, and concussion grenades, three of each, as well as two construction kits to repair myself. In my hands I hold two Sith assassin pistols.

I look around. I appear to be in one if the droid maintenance rooms of a Sith warship. Before me stands Darth Revan, a male human of twenty-two standard years of age. He has dark, short hair on his head, a small goatee, an a scar running down his right cheek.

"Greeting," I say, "Hello to you. I am Hunter-Killer Forty-Seven, an assassin droid manufactured by the Sith, programed to protect you, Darth Revan, at all costs, and eliminate any and all enemies that you would have terminated.

"Query: do you have a command, Master? I exist to serve. Do you have anyone you would have me destroy, Master?"

"Actually," he says, "I would like to test you, see what you can do. Follow me."

"Obedient," I say. "As you desire, Master."

As Darth Revan's personal bodyguard, it is only logical that Lord Revan would make sure that I am the best he can get. I am determined not to disappoint him.

The Master leads me to a room that is most likely used by any Sith who wish to hone their combat skills.

"For the next few minutes," the Master tells me, "destroy any and all of the enemies that will emerge from either of those three doors at the other side of the room. Do whatever you have to to survive. You have to defeat them all in order to pass the test. If you fail, of course, you'll be destroyed. Understand?"

"Query: Might I ask just what enemies I will face, Master?" I ask.

"Just a few droids for now," he tells me. He leaves the room, and a moment later, I see him appear on a balcony above the training room. He presses a button next to him.

I turn back towards the three doors. One opens, and five Sith war droids step out. They begin to point their Sith sniper rifles at me.

Combat Mode active.

I quickly shoot two of them in the torso, disabling them. I also hit one with a blast from my advanced shield disruptor. The droid staggers, but still fires at me. I dodge the blasts easily. I then hit the same droid a second time with the disruptor. It explodes, and its remains fall to the floor. At the same time, I launch a plasma grenade at the remaining two droids. They see the grenade, and try to run, but they are not fast enough. The explosion disintegrates them both.

This is quite a lot of fun.

A second door opens. Three more droids enter, but a different model. They have built-in blasters, somewhat more powerful than the standard Sith sniper rifle. I immediately activate my environment shield, and the first blasts bounce harmlessly off me.

They stay foolishly close together, which will allow me to destroy them with a single grenade. These droids have a thicker plating. I use a thermal detonator this time. The disadvantage of these droids is that they move quite slowly. Two are demolished by the blast, but one is barely able to continue shooting at me. A well-aimed shot to its control panel takes care of that. All three droids are now twisted heaps of metal.

The third door opens. Five of both previous droid models enter. A plasma grenade destroys three of the weaker droids before they even travel three feet into the training room. The other two I shoot down with my pistols. The five stronger ones now advance towards me. I need not worry about their blasters. My environment shield will protect me.

Suddenly, a blast rips a hole in my left arm plating. The environment shield has unfortunately worn out by now. That is annoying.

I quickly reactivate it, and continue firing at the droids. Three hits from my disruptor takes care of one. Two more destroy another. As I aim at the third, my environment shield suddenly deactivates. A blaster bolt hits my chassis, sending me flying into a wall. My disruptor's blast hits the opposite wall.

Something is wrong. My shield cannot possibly have worn out again already. I try to reactivate it, but nothing happens. It is malfunctioning. No matter. I dodge the energy blasts, managing to launch my last plasma grenade at the three remaining droids. It does not completely destroy them, but it causes enough damage to stun them for just a moment, long enough for me to blast one of them twice with my disruptor, using up its last two charges. While the droid is destroyed, the disruptor is now worthless. I eject it, and load my flamethrower into the slot.

The droids are now active again. I fire my flamethrower at one, and its plating starts to melt. The melting metal leaks into its circuitry, and it unsurprisingly shuts down. I repeat the same tactic with the last droid, and thus, I am triumphant in my test.

Combat Mode deactivated.

In a way, I am disappointed. Combat is wonderful fun. I wish it could have lasted longer.

The Master grants my wish. For the next few hours, I face similar tests with increasing length and difficulty. Finally, the tests are over. While they were certainly enjoyable, it is perhaps best that they have all been completed. I have two holes in my left arm, one in my right leg, three it my chassis, and an energy blast to my right shoulder seems to have cut through several wires, so my right arm is slightly malfunctioning, in addition to some other damage to the top plating of my head that not even a construction kit can repair. I have also used all of my grenades and secondary weapons.

The Master enters the training room.

"Pretty good, HK," he says. "I'm impressed."

"Gratitude: thank you, Master," I say.

I feel quite proud. I have impressed the Master. He is most likely convinced that I am the best assassin droid in the Sith army.

"Now get to maintenance," he says. "You need it. Badly."

"Agreement: I believe you are correct, Master," I say, reexamining the damage.

I hurry off to maintenance, where my shoulder is rewired, and my head repaired. In addition, I am fitted with a new plating and environment shield, and given replacement weapons and grenades for the ones I used in the tests.

The door to the maintenance room opens. The Master enters, followed by an unusually tall human dressed in Sith Master robes. He has shaved all hair from his head, and has painted a large tattoo on his scalp. Searching my memory banks, I recognize him as Malak, Revan's apprentice. Further exploration of my memory banks reveals that Sith tradition dictates that when the apprentice feels that they have surpassed their master, they must challenge their master in a duel to the death for the title of Dark Lord of the Sith. As Revan's bodyguard, I will have to watch Malak very closely.

"HK, this is my apprentice, Malak, which you probably already know. Malak, HK-47."

Malak inspects me closely. "So you're Revan's new toy, hmm?" says Malak.

_Toy?_ I am insulted.

"Objection!" I shout. "This unit is a highly-skilled assassination droid custom-made to protect Darth Revan himself, not a device for a child's amusement! Master, this apprentice of yours is quite annoying and disrespectful. Shall I terminate him for you?"

"No," says the Master. "He is the second-in-command of the Sith Order. I think that means we need him."

"Statement: Sith tradition dictates that he must eventually attempt to kill you," I say. "He is therefore a danger to you, Master."

"Sith tradition also dictates that I always have an apprentice," the Master reminds me. "So, from your point of view, I will always have _that_ danger anyway."

"As you desire, Master," I sigh. "But rest assured that should I discover that he is attempting to harm you in any way, I will gladly terminate him for you."

"Suck up," Malak whispers quietly. He does not realize that my audio receptors can hear much more than the human ear. I choose to ignore him, however.

"Terminate..." the Master murmurs, "that reminds me, Malak, how did things go with those three Jedi we caught yesterday on Faleen?"

"I had to torture them for some time," says Malak. "One I eventually broke, and he has wisely seen our way. The other two kept idiotically coughing up that Jedi "wisdom," and so I killed them. They are now floating somewhere near Sullust. Or, at least, what's left of them is floating there. Which means that's three more Jedi gone. Every one helps, as you told me, Revan."

"Observation: aside from his risk to your welfare, Master, you apprentice is very cold and cruel," I interject. "I like him."

Malak appears to be somewhat curious. "You've given it quite an..._interesting_ personality, Revan," he comments.

"I find it amusing," says the Master.

" 'Amusing?' " repeats Malak. "Well then, I guess I was right the first time. It _is_ a toy."

Once again, I am insulted. Malak is obviously insulting me for his own entertainment. I imagine what a lovely sight he would be after being blasted, and start to suggest this once again to the Master.

"No, HK, you cannot kill him," the Master says before I can finish my request.

"Disappointment: As you wish, Master," I say.

"And you, Malak," says the Master, "stop bothering him. You might make him angry."

"So bloody what?" asks Malak. "It's just a stupid battle droid."

"Malak, do you really think that I would use just an ordinary war droid as my personal bodyguard?" asks the Master. "He may yet surprise you, in a way that you may not particularly like."

Malak glares at me. "I fail to see how a mere droid could defeat the next Dark Lord of the Sith, Revan," he says. "I think you overestimate your toy's abilities."

_Again_, he refers me as a toy? Oh, how I yearn to blast this stupid organic! It would bring me much satisfaction and no doubt impress the Master as well.

And lo and behold, the Master suddenly turns to me and says, "HK, attack Malak."

Combat Mode active.

I do not even waste time to reply. I activate my environment shield, just in time, as Malak draws, activates, and swings his saber at me all in one motion. The shield absorbs most of the energy, but not all. I am knocked to the right. Nevertheless, I open fire at the annoying organic.

His reflexes are excellent. He blocks or deflects each of my blasts. I will have to try something new. I shoot a stream of carbonite at him. He leaps to the side, but not in time. His lightsaber arm is caught in the jet of liquid, which is quickly hardening. While the energy blade vaporizes any carbonite that touches it, Malak's arm does not. He soon finds himself unable to move that arm, leaving him completely defenseless. I am just raising my blasters to aim at his head when-

"Stop, stop, stop," calls the Master. "That's enough."

"Complaint: Oh, but Master, I am one blast away from ridding you of you apprentice forever!" I cry.

"No, HK, this was just a demonstration," he tells me. "I only wanted to show Malak just what you are capable of. You have done quite a bit more than enough."

"Resignation," I say, "Very well, Master. Very well."

Combat Mode deactivated.

"You see Malak?" asks the Master. "I choose my bodyguards very carefully. Now go clean yourself up."

I am pleased to see that a glob of carbonite apparently landed on Malak's mouth, preventing him from responding. He stands up, glaring at us, and attempts to make a dignified exit, which is ruined when his immobilized arm knocks over a repair droid, and the saber in his immobilized arm slices through the doorway on his way out.

* * *

I enter the bridge of the _True Perfection_, personal warship of Lord Darth Revan and Flagship for the Sith Armada. The Master walks just ahead of me. Trough the giant viewports, I see the swirling whiteness of Hyperspace. Everyone else stares at us, each with an identical expression of nervousness. I am both surprised and proud to see that they are just as afraid of me as they are of the Master. I jerk my blasters up threateningly, just to see them all jump slightly. The Master looks amused even through his mask and cloak.

Admiral Notrachan approaches the Master. "My Lord," he begins, bowing, "The fleet will be dropping out of Hyperspace in just two minutes."

"Excellent," says the Master. "What is the situation that we know of?"

"Well, as you know," explains the Admiral, to the entire assembly rather than just to the Master, "On our most recent voyage, we have traveled from Nal Hutta to Falleen, and then Sullust. We then followed the Hydian Way, and we very recently turned onto the Correllian Run. The next major Republic World we will come to is, of course, Correllia. We will be dropping out of Hyperspace momentarily. Even if Republic Forces have realized that we are coming, it is doubtful that backup will arrive in time, so this should be a quick strike. Notice the emphasis I place on the words _doubtful_ and _should,_ so be alert. The plan is for _True Perfection_ to lead the main attack with _Black Hole_ and _Thunderstorm_ just behind us as backup, while _Leviathan,_ _Art of Destruction_ and _Supernova_ circle around opposite sides of the planet to cut off any escaping craft. By the time we're finished with the orbital assault, the rest will have arrived and we will start on the ground assault from there. Everyone clear?"

"Clear!" shouts the assembly.

"Good," says the Admiral.

"Request," I say, "Master, can I watch the battle? Please, Master, may I, please-"

"All right, all right!" shouts the Master. "Stay here, just don't distract anyone."

"Assurance: Do not worry, Master. I will be far to busy watching the battle to distract anyone," I say.

The Master and I stand at the front of the bridge to get the best possible view of the battle. The ship rocks and lurches as it exits Hyperspace. The blue and green world of Correllia grows into sight. But five Republic warships also grow into sight along with it.

"As I said," says Admiral Notrachan, "Emphasis on _doubtful,_ and _should._"

The bridge shakes as a blast hits the _True Perfection_.

"Shields up!" shouts the Master, "and get me in contact with the rest of the fleet!"

As usual, the Master demonstrates why he is the leader of the Sith Order. Immediately decisive in any situation.

The panel nearest to us flashes, indicating that its comlink is active. The Master hurries over to it. "New plan," he yells into it, "_Supernova,_ stay your course. Make a pass around the planet and check for any other enemy craft. _Art of Destruction, Leviathan,_ turn around to meet us, and begin your attacks on the Republic fleet. _Black Hole,_ watch for any escaping vessels. Any that you see, shoot down. _Thunderstorm,_ hold your position. We might need you soon."

A chorus of agreements and acknowledgments rise from the comlink. In fifteen seconds, one Republic warship is destroyed by the _Leviathan._ Another is disabled by the _Art of Destruction._

"_Supernova_ reporting," comes a voice from the comlink. "We found one stray warship, and destroyed it. We see no sign of any other enemy craft in the area, other than those at your coordinates."

"Good," replies the Master. "Hold your position and keep a lookout, just in case."

"Copy."

"Agh!" shouts a different voice. "_Art of Destruction,_ here. We've taken a direct hit. Our shields are non-functional, and we have a big hole on our port side."

"Fall back!" orders the Master. "Fall back! Trade positions with _Thunderstorm._"

Another Republic vessel explodes at the hands of the _Leviathan_ in a flash of light. At the same time, several small craft are launched from the leading Republic warship. Five fighters and four bombers. They are heading straight toward the _True Perfection_. I know for a fact that the fighters could never hope to penetrate our shields, but the bombers could. The fighters are there to escort and protect the bombers. It is a desperate plan, but it could work.

The Master realizes this as well. "Focus on that squadron!" he screams. "Shoot them down! Shoot them down!" As our fighters and turrets alike attempt to obey the command, the enemy fighters quite easily blast a path through them.

"Those fighters," growls the Master, "Jedi. They're piloted by Jedi. Our forces will never be able to get through them. Too many of our fighters are too far away, and it's not too hard for Jedi to dodge turret blasts."

"Confidence: I am sure, however, that you could, Master," I say.

"Yes," agrees the Master. "I can." He thinks for a moment. "Better take out the bombers first," he mutters.

He closes his eyes in concentration, and claps two hands together. Two of the bombers suddenly swerve into each other, and are ripped apart in the collision. The other two continue toward us, one in front of the other. Eyes still closed in concentration, the Master ignores the cheers coming from the other organic officers, raises one hand, and the leading bomber stops suddenly. The second one collides with the first, and both are destroyed.

By this time, enough of our fighters have come close enough to destroy the five Jedi-piloted fighters. Meanwhile, the lead Republic warship continues toward us, alone. Its companion was blasted apart by the _Thunderstorm_ moments ago. As one, the _Leviathan, Thunderstorm,_ and _True Perfection_ fire at the last Republic warship. Its shields quickly give way under the assault. Next, its engines are blasted to pieces. Finally, the doomed ship is ripped apart into two pieces. As the hunks of twisted metal spiral down towards the planet's surface, I watch them very closely. It is, without a doubt, the most beautiful sight I have ever seen in my three days of existence.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic, nor do I own HK-47, or ANYTHING Star Wars except for my collection of Hasbro merchandise. This story is a simple KOTOR fanfic, and I have/am/will not made/making/make a single penny from it. I'm not a rich man, either, so if you sue me, I won't have much to give. You'll be wasting your time, your money, and (if you have one) your lawyer's time. PLEASE, save us all the trouble.

* * *

2

The Master has sent for me. I have spent most of the day in maintenance. Now, the Master says he needs me for a special assignment. So, I leave maintenance and make my way to the part of the ship that is normally restricted for Force sensitive organics only. I, as Lord Revan's personal bodyguard, am one of the very few select droids and non-Force sensitive organics who are permitted entrance.

I find the Master conversing quietly with three Dark Jedi students. Malak stands silently across the room. His lip curls and is left eye twitches as I enter the chamber. I believe that this is a human expression of disgust, an feeling Malak has apparently felt toward me ever since I defeated him in combat. Oh, poor, foolish organic.

The Master, meanwhile, holds up one finger towards me in a "just a moment" expression and motions for me to join Malak.

I do so, standing just two feet apart from the glaring organic. At first, he ignores me. Finally, he sighs, and turns to me, most likely hoping that he can torture me for his amusement again.

"So..." he begins, not quite meeting my photoreceptors, "How do you like the Sith so far?"

"Statement," I say, "The Sith Order has many opportunities to offer me. I am quite proud to serve such an organization. They keep me in prime condition, not to mention the Master provides me with plenty of organics to have fun blasting."

"Is blasting things all that you think about?" asks Malak.

"Answer: mostly," I say. "Combat is wonderful fun, as a Sith Master such as yourself should know, and for me, there is nothing more satisfying than to watch any organic explode from a blast that you fired...that is, any organic but the Master, of course."

"And you would gladly blast me as you would any other organic, right?" asks Malak.

I think about this for a moment.

"Affirmative: yes," I say, "I would have an extra lot of fun blasting you."

"HK-47, could I ask you something that I've been curious about since I met you?" he asks.

"Statement: you certainly may, but knowing your normal behavior pattern, you may not like my answer," I tell him.

"What do you think of me, besides my being 'the Master's troublesome apprentice who needs to be blasted?' I know you must have some other opinion because I find it hard to believe that Revan would program you to be so simple-minded."

I study him carefully. What exactly do I think of Malak? A difficult question to answer. After approximately one minute, I notice how full of squishy, meaty parts he is, and how those parts are constantly sloshing around underneath his protective skin tissue. A very...unsettling vision indeed. If I were an organic myself I would most likely shudder.

"Answer: I think of you as an organic meatbag," I say.

Malak stands very still, and stares silently at me for several seconds. "What did you say?!" he bursts out, finally.

"Repetition: I think of you as an organic meat-"

"_I heard what you said, you stupid rusty contraption!_" he shouts, "What, wh - what..._what is a meatbag?!_"

By now, Malak has startled the Master and the Dark Jedi students, who come running over.

"What the hell is going on here?" the Master asks angrily.

"I just asked that - that - that..._thing_...what he thought of me, and he called me an 'organic meatbag!' "

"A what?" asks the Master. "What's a meatbag?"

"Ask _it!_" shouts Malak.

"Explanation," I say, "I noticed how many squishy parts you organics have underneath your skin tissue, constantly sloshing around in all that water...ooh, a very..._unpleasant_ picture indeed. You poor, poor, organics. At least we droids will never have to face this problem."

While Malak glares furiously at me, the Master starts to laugh.

"All right, all right. Enough funny stuff for now," the Master says. "Students, I will need you to leave now."

The three Dark Jedi students leave the room, looking somewhat curious and disappointed.

"The reason I called you both here," begins the Master, "is that we have a major problem. I have just received word that a small Jedi task force has discovered the location of the Star Forge."

Malak grimaces. I, meanwhile, am confused. The Star Forge is mentioned in my memory banks, but with no clear details. All that I know is that it is something of great importance to the Sith.

"Query: what exactly is the Star Forge, Master?"

"I can't tell you that, HK," says the Master. "All I can afford to let you know is what's already in you memory banks. What if you were captured?"

"Objection: I will never let that happen!" I shout.

"I still cannot risk it," says the Master. "Anyway, several Jedi were apparently sent to find the source off our fleet. By the time we one of our ships spotted them, they were already preparing to return to Coruscant. Our forces were able to damage their ship enough to prevent them from entering Hyperspace, and they barely managed to slip into a nearby remote system.

"The system has three planets. Each of us will lead a squad onto one of those planets and try to find them before they can repair their ship. If the Republic finds the Star Forge...it won't be pretty.

"Before either of you ask 'why us,' I chose you two because the Jedi Council would never have sent anyone but their strongest Masters for something like this, and you two are _my_ best warriors. Plus, this will be a very good test for you, HK."

The Master has officially declared me one of his two best warriors. Oh! The pride that I feel right now!

"Malak," begins the Master, cutting into my thoughts, "Go get ready. HK, follow me. I just thought of a thing or two I'd like to do before you leave."

"Obedient: as you desire, Master," I say, wondering what he has planned.

The Master takes me to maintenance, and instructs me to shut down.

"You'll be reactivated in an hour or so," he says. "I just have a few modifications for you."

I believe that his tone of voice would be considered "mischievous," so I am worried slightly, but he is the Master, after all, and the Master is the Master.

"Compliance: very well, Master," I say.

Signing off...

Shutting down...

* * *

Initializing...

Detecting changes in some systems...

New programing added...

Retrieving new data...

Data retrieved: all organic meatbags must be referred to as such.

Error...

New programing contradicts existing programing that states that the "Master" must be referred to as such.

All other systems functional...

The Master stands in front of me, staring eagerly. "How do you feel, HK?" he asks.

"Answer: I am in prime condition, meatbag Master," I say.

"I think it worked," the Master mutters happily. "Okay, are you ready to go?" he asks, louder.

"Answer: Of course, meatbag Master," I say."

"Good. Follow me. We are going to the port docking bays. When you see Malak, I want you to go up to him and greet him."

"Obedient: Yes, meatbag Master," I say. Now I understand his plan. He is hoping that my new programing will severely irritate Malak. It probably will, which is fine with me.

We enter the docking bays, where three shuttles are waiting; one for the Master, one for Malak, and one for me. Malak is also waiting for us. As the Master has instructed me, I walk up to greet him.

"Greeting: hello to you, meatbag Malak," I say loudly.

"Malak's facial expression is somewhat of a mixture of rage and surprise. "Did you just call me a meatbag _again_?!" he demands.

"Affirmative," I reply, "Yes, I did."

"I changed his programming," says the Master, smirking.

"Agreement: indeed he did. All organic meatbags must now be referred to as such. The only problem is the confusion of whether to address the meatbag Master as "Meatbag" or "Master."

"I'll fix that soon enough," says the Master. "For now: HK-47, activate Assassination Protocol."

Activating Assassination Protocol...

Assassination Protocol active.

Provide target(s).

The Master hands me a datapad, whose contents I download into my memory banks.

Targets: One. Divalone Haray, Jedi Master. Description: male Twi'lek, thirty-seven standard years of age, orange skin color.

Two: Vawo Jalaan, Jedi Master. Description: female Human, thirty-one standard years of age, dark hair, dark skin color.

Three: Thunal Roak, Jedi Master. Description: male Human, forty-six standard years of age, red hair, light skin color.

Targets acquired.

"Very well Master," I say, "I shall leave at once to search for the Jedi."

"Good," replies the Master.

He boards one shuttle, and Malak boards another. I board the third one. The planet I am sent to is very rocky, with the occasional, though uncommon, forest or lake.

During the journey, I spend every moment preparing my weapons, stuffing my built-in compartments with all the accessories that will fit in, quintuple-checking my plating for the slightest, tiniest hole. This will be my first battle against living Jedi meatbags..._if_ this is the planet they fled to, of course. Anyway, I want everything _perfect_ for this mission. When the shuttle lands on the top of a small hill, I walk towards the exit ramp with utmost confidence in my abilities. So imagine my shock when my foot touches the rock, and a blast of electricity from an unseen enemy causes me to abruptly shut down.

* * *

Author's notes: cliffhangar there, for ya! R&R, please! 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic, nor do I own HK-47, or ANYTHING Star Wars except for my collection of Hasbro merchandise. This story is a simple KOTOR fanfic, and I have/am/will not made/making/make a single penny from it. I'm not a rich man, either, so if you sue me, I won't have much to give. You'll be wasting your time, your money, and (if you have one) your lawyer's time. PLEASE, save us all the trouble.

* * *

3

Initializing...

Error...

This unit has sustained damage.

Assessing damage...

Left leg is non-functional due to an electrocuted motor.

Right photoreceptor is malfunctioning due to a broken light filter.

Right thumb, index finger, and middle finger are non-responsive.

Multiple fractures detected in body plating.

All other systems and components functioning normally...

I stand up, with great difficulty. I find myself leaning on a nearby rock so as not to topple over. My right photoreceptor only shows white, without a light filter to balance the amount of light let in. This is distracting, so I shut it off. Through my left photoreceptor, I can see that I am still on the same planet. I appear to be in the middle of a campsite of sorts, which is near the edge of a deep canyon. A tent, several supply boxes, and various other items are scattered for approximately three meters around.

I open one of my compartments and reach for a construction kit to repair myself. To my surprise and dismay, the compartment is empty. I check the rest. All empty. Whoever attacked me has robbed me as well. My construction kits, grenades, weapons, and the rest of my possessions are all gone. Whichever meatbag did this will definitely be blasted at some point or other.

I am pleased to see that my shield, utility device, and targeting computer slots automatically locked up when I was deactivated, as they are programed to do. This means I still have the devices inside, which will most likely come in handy in the battle that I _know_ is coming soon.

A snap and a hiss sound behind me. I know that sound. A lightsaber. I spin around, and find myself face-to-face with Jedi Master Divalone Haray. He is definitely the Twi'lek Jedi I have been sent after. The tip of his sky blue lightsaber is not an inch away from my chassis.

"Freeze," he says in Huttese. "Do not move, or I will use your parts to repair our ship."

Oh, how frustrating, not to mention humiliating! I barely take one step onto this miserable world, and already I am captured by the Jedi whose lekku I should be handing to the Master now! And I call myself the best assassin droid in the Sith forces! I am not fit to polish the foot-plating of a true Sith assassin droid!

"Extremely reluctant compliance: very well," I say. "As I have no other current options, I will surrender."

"Smart little machine," Haray sneers. "Now, how many more of there are you?"

Oh, please. A long as I have a square micrometer of dignity left in my circuitry, I will never betray the Master.

"Statement: My programing restricts me from revealing such information," I lie.

Haray appears...unconvinced. "Do you think I am a fool?!" he shouts.

He lets his saber drift just a few degrees to the right for a moment. That moment is all I need.

"Answer: no, I think you are a dead organic meatbag," I say.

I activate my energy shield. Haray sees this, and attempts to slice through my chassis. The energy is mostly absorbed by my shield, but I am knocked to the right. As I roll, I grab Haray's lightsaber hilt. He is strong, but few creatures can match the strength of pure durasteel. I manage to wrestle it out of his grip, and throw it away.

I am gaining the advantage. I feel much better. All of a sudden, however, I feel worse again, as I am lifted up by no visible force, and hurled into a rock. Haray. I have seen Dark Jedi use such telekinesis many times. Jedi, apparently, can do exactly the same. I struggle to stand, and I-

WARNING!

SEV-SEV-SEVERE DAMAGE DE-DETECTED!

HIGH EL-EL-EL-ELECTRICITY LEV-LEVELS DETECTED!

ALL SYSTE-TE-TEMS UN-UNSTABLE!

Then, the pain that hit me suddenly is...gone, just as suddenly. And what pain it was! Every one of my circuits seemed ready to melt, explode, and disintegrate all at once. Haray, it seems, has demonstrated another of his powers for me. How kind. I am beginning to become annoyed, now.

Especially when he uses telekinesis to reacquire his lightsaber, and attack. I have had enough. He is thirty feet away, outside the camp. I see an open supply box, and by the best luck I have had on this miserable mission, I see my weapons inside. I reach in and grab the first thing I touch - my flamethrower. I load it into one of the secondary weapon slots, and blast Haray with a jet of flames. He jumps quickly, missing most of the blast, but his leg has caught fire. He lands, and stamps it out. I, meanwhile, rummage through the box until I find one of my pistols. But no sooner do I raise it then Haray pushes me to the ground and prepares to slice me in two. I grab his saber hand, and he grabs my pistol hand.

For almost a full minute, we lie there on the ground, each trying to turn both weapons against the other. Haray tries to break away, but I hold on. We roll to the edge of the canyon. My energy shield has worn out, and his lightsaber blade is so close to me that my left shoulder and forearm plating is actually starting to melt, but still, I will not surrender to a meatbag Jedi.

"Don't...you...ever...give...up?!" he growls.

"Determined answer," I say, "_NEVER!_"

I kick him in the stomach, and his grip loosens. I throw him into the canyon, and open fire, just for good measure.

I am impressed, I must say. Even while falling towards certain death, he blocks every shot with his lightsaber, and then-

WARNING!

SEV-SEVERE DAM-DAMAGE DETE-TE-TECTED!

HIGH EL-EL-ELECTRICI-CI-TY LEVELS DE-DE-TECTED!

ALL SYS-SYS-SYSTEMS UNSTA-STA-STABLE!

He has used his painful electric power again, but stopped for some reason. Looking down, I see that he has landed on a rock protruding from the canyon wall, and is temporarily stunned. I shoot him once, and he topples over completely, hits his head on another rock, and falls to his doom.

Combat mode deactivated.

Assassination target eliminated.

As I watch him fall, I think about him, briefly. He was a brave opponent, and definitely a worthy one. I have never seen anyone fight with such, such grace, such..._artistry_ - except for the Master, of course. In a way, I will almost _mourn_ Jedi Master Divalone Haray's passing. Almost.

Five minutes later, I have repaired myself completely, and retaken possession of my items. I use my comlink to send a transmission to the Master, telling him I have located the Jedi. Normally, when my Assassination Protocol is active, I do not contact the Master again until any and all of my targets are dead, but this is so special a case that I believe he would want me to contact him. Besides, the other two Jedi will return to the camp soon, and just one of them was almost a complete match for me. I have absolutely no intention of facing two of them at once. Not yet, at least.

* * *

I wait for almost a standard hour before the Master's shuttle lands about ten miles from the Jedi's campsite. While I wait, I investigate my own shuttle. It's engines have been destroyed. How surprising. And my pilot has been sliced neatly in two. I have seen better killings, but it still isn't that bad. Quite effective and efficient.

It's as I exit my shuttle that I see the Master landing. Normally I would have welcomed the help of the Master against these Jedi, but as soon as the ramp is lowered, I regret calling him at all, because who should be just behind the Master but Malak, that ugly, hairless, disrespectful meatbag.

"Angry query: what is that meatbag doing here?" I ask.

"He's here to help," says the Master. "He _is_ my apprentice, after all."

I am rather bitter, but the Master is the Master. Besides, he cuts me off before I can reply.

"How far off is the camp?" he asks.

"Answer: ten miles," I say.

"All right, then, weapons out, and let's go!" As always, the Master is ready to fight, like me. I really do like him.

About fifty yards from the camp, the Master stops abruptly, and signals for us to do the same. He rises his lightsaber, not activating it just yet. Malak does the same. I make sure my pistols are set to "kill," and raise one on either side of me.

Focusing audio sensors...

Subjects "Malak" and "Master" detected...

Numerous unintelligent animals detected...

Targets undetected.

Focusing visual sensors...

Subjects "Malak" and "Master" detected...

Numerous unintelligent animals detected...

Suspicious movement detected!

I swing my head to the left. The three of us just saw a shadow dart through a small opening in the trees, but it is now gone. Beads of perspiration drip down Malak's hairless scalp. The Master's teeth are clenched, and he is calmly gripping his lightsaber.

Focusing visual sensors...

Subjects "Malak" and "Master" detected...

Numerous unintelligent animals detected...

Targets undetected.

Foc-

_Snap-hisssss._

Target detected!

Combat mode active.

Vawo Jalaan suddenly leaps from behind a rock, activates her lightsaber in mid-air, and misses me by an inch.

_Snap-hisssss._

_Snap-hisssss._

The Master and Malak activate their lightsabers as well, and begin dueling with Jalaan.

_Snap-hisssss._

I activate my energy shield a millisecond before Thunal Roak's blade hits my abdomen. I am still knocked to the side as usual, but I am used to this. I open fire, with a stream of blaster bolts that should have fried Roak like nerf meat. And yet, he blocks every shot. His skill is _amazing!_ It's even better than that of the late Divalone Haray. He moves like lightning, so fast that my visual sensors can barely pick him up. I stop shooting, and raise my flamethrower, but Roak barely flicks his wrist, and I am hurled into the top branches of a nearby tree.

As I struggle to dislodge myself, the two Jedi and the two Sith continue dueling, and moving, as well. They are headed in the direction of the camp..._and the canyon._ That...is not good. Not at all. The Master and Malak do not know about the canyon. If the Jedi are very careful, and move the right way, Malak and the Master may suffer the same fate as Haray. Well, Malak, I could not care less about, but the Master is everything to me. I struggle harder against the mass of branches and leaves around me. I pause for a moment, just a moment, to watch the duel in fascination.

All four duelists are excellent. Each one is able to keep their balance, keep moving, and switch from one opponent to the other with amazing speed and ease, all at once.

With a _snap,_ the last branch holding me breaks, and I land on the ground with a thud. I pick myself up and hurry after the others. They have almost reached the camp, and the Jedi are driving Malak and the Master backwards towards it.

"Urgent warning: Master, look out! They are leading you into a trap! There is a-"

The rest of my warning is unfinished, as I am once again hurled into the air. This time, I am heading towards the canyon. Oh, no. I will _not_ go out like this. As I pass the duel, I reach out and grab Roak by the wrist. He trips, falls, and releases his hold on me. I raise my flamethrower, and blast him with it. Amazingly, _he catches the fire in his hand!_ As I watch, the flames build up in his hand, and when I finally stop, he launches the ball of flames at me. I dodge it, and it strikes a tree. Within moments, the flames start spreading. We have started a forest fire. As the flames encircle the five of us, we keep fighting. Jalaan is holding her ground against Malak and the Master. Roak seems determined to get me out of the way. He throws his lightsaber at me. It barely misses me. To my shock, _it changes its course,_ and flies back into Roak's waiting hand.

Suddenly, I see my chance. Before he can raise the blade back to a defensive position, I shoot at him with a single pistol blast. He moves to block it, and more or less succeeds. It hits the hilt of his weapon, which goes flying into the forest. He raises his hand, and unleashes the same electricity that Haray used. My energy shield blocks it, but is still not made to block so much energy at one time. The force of it pushes me backwards, and pins me to a rock. I struggle against it. As my shield groans, and begins to weaken, I concentrate all of my energy into the gears of my left arm. I struggle to lift it, pushing against the power of Roak's blast of electricity. I see that exerting such power is weakening him as well. Perspiration pours down his face, and he is breathing rapidly. I push harder. Finally, with one last burst of energy, I raise my left arm and fire my pistol. He takes the hit right in the arm, and the surge of electricity ceases. We both collapse, and take one moment to recover.

He suddenly stands up and runs off, clutching his wounded arm. At first, I do not understand what he is doing, but then, as he keeps peering at the ground in front of him, I realize that he is searching for his lightsaber. He is too weak to fight unarmed. Too bad.

I load my shield disruptor into a secondary weapon slot, and fire. Roak sinks to the ground, and no longer moves.

Assassination target eliminated.

I think I am finally getting the hang of this fighting a Jedi business.

I quickly run back towards the others, just in time to see Jalaan knock Malak's saber aside, and slice off his jaw.

Malak sinks to his knees, and lets out a howl that could scare a krayt dragon. The Master uses this moment to run his lightsaber through Jalaan's abdomen, finally ending this intense battle.

Combat Mode deactivated.

Assassination target eliminated.

Deactivating Assassination Protocol...

Assassination Protocol deactivated.

"Query: will he live, Master?" I ask, pointing to a whimpering Malak.

"Yes," says the Master, checking Malak's wounds. "He will have to live without a jaw, but he will live."

"Disappointment: oh, well," I say.

As the Master tends to Malak, and after I take a moment to admire the beautiful work of art that was once Malak's jaw, I replay the battle in my mind. It is the happiest time of my whole existence, even more so than that battle at Correllia. I wonder how long I have to wait for the next one...

* * *

Author's comments:

YAY! My first review, courtesy of 6tailedninja! In response to your review - the reason I didn't make him violent so far was because I needed to introducew the characters and the setting, and I felt that might be a distraction. Let me know how this is. :D

R&R! R&R! R&R!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic, nor do I own HK-47, or ANYTHING Star Wars except for my collection of Hasbro merchandise. This story is a simple KOTOR fanfic, and I have/am/will not made/making/make a single penny from it. I'm not a rich man, either, so if you sue me, I won't have much to give. You'll be wasting your time, your money, and (if you have one) your lawyer's time. PLEASE, save us all the trouble.

Author's notes: Yipee! Many thanks to the three reviewers I have so far! Request: keep 'em coming, folks!

And now, we journey on into a more familiar part of the KOTOR canon...

* * *

4

Over a period of two standard years, I perform many tasks for the Master, terminating a grand total of four thousand, seven hundred, ninety-two to four thousand, seven hundred, ninety-nine organic meatbags, depending on several targets who had a very small chance of escape. Among these are thirty-seven Jedi. The Master has been very pleased with my work. Malak still hates me, as always. The Sith Empire is thriving, gaining more worlds each day. The Republic forces are moving back, day by day. The Jedi's numbers are dwindling each day, as more and more are slain each day, and still more are broken by the Master's terrifying will, and surrender their loyalty to the Sith.

I stand at the Master's side in his private meditation chamber aboard the True Perfection. He is on his knees, with his hood down and his mask lying beside him. His eyes are closed, and his face shows pure concentration. He frowns slightly. He mutters an occasional word or so under his breath.

"An academy...cold...ice...Telos...but who?...Atris...oh you have been clever...but Telos?"

The Master smiles. His eyes open. "HK," he asks, "you up for a fight?"

"Enthusiastic metaphor," I almost shout, happily, "Can a Hutt cheat?"

* * *

The Master calls for a private meeting in his chambers between him, Malak, and Admiral Notrachan, commander of the Sith Fleet. Naturally, I am also present as always. 

"Our primary target is now Telos," the Master tells us. "But only the four of us can know it was my decision to attack. As far as everyone else knows, it was your idea, Malak. During the battle, I will land on the surface of Telos, alone. I have some private business to attend to."

This comes as a surprise to Malak, the Admiral, and I. Keeping secrets from the Admiral or even me is one thing, but any business of the Master's that he cannot reveal even to Malak must be something most important, indeed.

"There is a decent-sized Republic convoy stationed just a few parsecs away from Telos, under the command of Carth Onasi, so the attack will have to be quick and clean, before they have the chance to come to Telos's aid," continues the Master. "There is also a somewhat smaller convoy already stationed in orbit above Telos, under the command of Sejje Dodonna. Instead of meeting them head-on, I have decided to use this as an opportunity to test the new upgrades to your systems, HK."

"Anticipation: my circuits can barely contain my excitement, Master," I say, happily, stroking by weapons compartments.

"With good reason," the Master replies. "I never did really test you infiltration abilities. The fleet will exit hyperspace just outside of the convoy's sensor range. Take the stolen Jedi fighter in hanger A-11, and board the flagship, avoiding detection at all costs. Jam the ship's communications, and slice into their auto-turret control. Reprogram the turrets to fire on the surrounding Republic ships. The convoy will take several moments to recover from the surprise, moments that will cost them at least a quarter of their ships. When they do start to recover, set the ship to self-destruct, and use an escape pod to return to the True Perfection.. This will have cleared a path for our fleet, and will reduce our casualty rate greatly. Understood?"

"Acknowledgment: Understood, Master. The blind meatbags won't have a clue as to what hit them - at least, not until after I've blasted them all to pieces."

The Admiral is clearly stunned, and Malak enraged that the Master has entrusted such an important mission to me, and me alone, but his decision is already made.

"Good," continues the Master. "Once the orbital convoy has been decimated, Malak will be in charge from there. Understood? Good. Admiral, how soon can we reach Telos?"

"Probably within two days," the Admiral responds.

"Good," says the Master. "Give the order."

* * *

Two days later, I stand in hangar A-11 as the fleet exits hyperspace, fully prepared for my mission. I check one last time to make sure I have all the grenades, secondary weapons, and construction kits my compartments can hold, and that my blasters are in prime condition. I board the Jedi fighter and take off. As planned, the rest of the fleet stays just outside the range of the Republic convoy's sensors. I hail the convoy's flagship, the _Citadel of the Stars,_ with an enemy code decrypted only several days earlier. I imitate the voice of one of the many Jedi I have defeated in the past, saying that I am a Jedi carrying a private message for Sejje Dodonna. After I receive confirmation, I dock with the flagship, and crouch low in the cockpit, out of sight of the welcoming party. I move to the back of the fighter, and unscrew a panel, allowing me to crawl into one of the fighter's engine tubes. Once I am inside the tube, I rescrew the panel behind me. I quietly drop out of the end of the tube, landing in the hangar behind the fighter. On the other side, I hear several Republic meatbag soldiers trying to make sense of what has just happened. 

"What the...?!"

"Where's the pilot?"

"He's...gone, it - it - the fighter's empty!"

" 'Empty?' What do you mean, 'empty?' There was a pilot in it, I heard the transmission myself!"

"And the controls aren't on autopilot, either; they're set to manual."

"Well then, where the bloody Hell is the damn Jedi, then?!"

I leave the meatbags behind, and quietly slip out of the hangar, into a corridor. After that, things are easy enough. The passerby all believe me to be a simple protocol droid, an errand boy, nothing more. The schematics for the standard Republic warship have long since been downloaded into my memory core. I enter a small storage room near the bridge, and close the door behind me. I approach the computer terminal inside, and begin entering the enemy codes with which I have been provided.

Terminal B-4. Access restricted. Enter code.

Code1010111000111011101000111011001

Invalid code. Please renter.

Code233545.231907597.0.2385.398754

Invalid code. Please renter.

Code123IL-OYI6V2Y-98645-946BC

Invalid code. Please renter.

CodeTEE-ACHE-EX-ONE-ONE-THREE-EIGHT

Code: TEE-ACHE-EX-ONE-ONE-THREE-EIGHT accepted. Full network access granted to terminal B-4. Enter command/query.

I disable all security systems, life-support systems, and communication systems. I then divide the power intended for those systems, along with the auxiliary power, equally among the weapons systems and deflector shield. Next, I reprogram the auto-turrets to start firing on the surrounding Republic ships in one standard minute. Finally, I change the password to all terminals and escape pod bays on the ship, and lock all controls on the bridge.

Not having much time before the crew realizes that something is wrong, I hurry out of the storage room, and open the door to the bridge, where a panic is already rising.

Combat Mode active.

I quickly launch two thermal detonators inside. The following explosions tear the vital equipment inside to debris, and also take a great many meatbags with them. Already, I feel proud of myself.

The surviving officers scramble for cover while fumbling around for their weapons at the same time. I easily blast six out of the way. Only four remain, one of which, unless I am gravely mistaken, is Sejje Dodonna himself. I activate my energy shield, and the survivors' blaster bolts bounce harmlessly off of me. One even bounces straight toward the same officer who fired it, shattering his rib cage. Meanwhile, I shoot a stream of carbonite at the two remaining subordinates, immobilizing them completely. Only Dodonna himself remains. More experienced than the other meatbags, he moves faster, and ducks out of my sights. Unfortunately for him, I have plenty of grenades at my disposal. A simple fragmentation grenade tossed in his direction takes care of him.

Combat Mode deactivated.

I make sure that every single one of the controls on the bridge is either locked or damaged beyond repair, leaving no chance of the rest of the crew regaining control of the ship. After taking a moment to admire my latest masterpiece of organic meatbag termination, I hear panicked soldiers approaching the bridge. Time to leave. I rush to the nearest escape pod bay, in the starboard section. There is a terminal there, where I can unlock an escape pod and set the ship to self destruct.

Terminal S-9. Access restricted. Enter code.

CodeMEATBAG

Code: MEATBAG accepted. Full network access granted to terminal S-9. Enter command/query.

Command: unlock escape pod bay 29. Password: MEATBAG

Command executed. Enter command/query.

Command: set self destruct timer to thirty seconds.

Command executed. WARNING! SELF DESTRUCT IN 30.

29.

28.

I hurry into an escape pod and launch away. Through the viewport, I can see that a good third of the convoy has been destroyed, and the rest of the ships have scattered in a panic. And to top it all, the _Citadel of the Stars_ explodes with a brilliant burst of light.

* * *

Once I am back on the bridge of the _True Perfection,_ I watch the bombardment of Telos in fascination. Not even the arrival of Carth Onasi and his task force can save the doomed world. Within one standard hour, the once lush world is reduced to a beautiful blend of ashes and flames. As much as I dislike him, I simply must turn to Malak and congratulate him on a job well done. 

After the battle, the Master returns, but still refuses to tell anyone where he went. Studying his expressions carefully, I have the impression that the Master purposely left something important on Telos...but what?

* * *

I'd say it, but I decided not to say it. I won't. I REFUSE to say "R&R, please!" Oops:( Ah well. ;) 


	5. Chapter 5

I don't own Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic, nor do I own HK-47, or ANYTHING Star Wars except for my collection of Hasbro merchandise. This story is a simple KOTOR fanfic, and I have/am/will not made/making/make a single penny from it. I'm not a rich man, either, so if you sue me, I won't have much to give. You'll be wasting your time, your money, and (if you have one) your lawyer's time. PLEASE, save us all the trouble.

* * *

5

The Master sits at the computer terminal in the briefing room, watching the screen. Malak, Admiral Notrachan and I stand beside him. Even through his mask, I can tell he is frowning.

"Perception: You are troubled, Master," I say. "Quite severely. What is it?"

"You know me too well," says the Master, chuckling slightly. "It seems a small group of Mandalorians have banded together, and one of them calls himself the new Mandalore. Odd, he doesn't even have the helmet, as tradition dictates...anyway, they just raided the Schin-Tzuu colony. Our men there have been wiped out. Every last one of them. There are no clues as to what they've done with the colony itself, but I think we can all guess. They're obviously a threat."

"I shall assemble a task force at once, Lord Revan," says Notrachan.

"A task force?" scoffs Malak. "For what? They're long gone by now."

"Unfortunately, Malak is right," says the Master. I already sent a division of probe droids to the sector. They haven't returned data on the planet's surface yet, but the Mandalorians have definitely left. We'll need to hunt them down before they strike again."

"I'll find them, Revan," says Malak. "How hard could it be to find a large army of bloodthirsty warriors?"

"You'd be surprised," says the Master. "Didn't you learn anything from the Mandalorian wars?"

"How to kill," says Malak, bluntly. Another of the few times he shows the part of him that I admire and respect.

"Well, unfortunately, defeating these Mandalorians will require just a little bit more than that," says the Master. "I'm sending out four groups. Two small task fleets will scout out known Mandalorian territories, one led by you, Admiral, and the other by Captain Karath, and two groups of Sith warriors, one led by you, Malak, and the other by me, will scout out the remains of the Schin-Tzuu colony, and try to track them from there. I suppose we could all consider this to be somewhat of a contest between our military forces and the Sith themselves."

Malak snorts. " 'Contest?!' " he scoffs. "Is this a joke, Revan? This is no 'contest' at all! Every warship, blaster, and battle droid in the galaxy compared to the Force is about equal to a single-celled creature against a rancor!"

"We shall see," the Master says. "And besides, if that single cell is a deadly virus, the strongest rancor could be dead in hours."

Malak scowls, and leaves the briefing room.

"I shall prepare fifteen warships, fresh off the assembly line, Lord Revan," says Admiral Notrachan.

"Make it twenty," orders the Master. "I want to be absolutely sure that this time, we put them 'out of business'..._permanently._"

"Yes, my Lord," says Notrachan, who then also leaves with a slight bow.

"HK," says the Master, "You, naturally, will be coming with me. We'll be leaving in just a few standard hours. Get down to maintenance and get yourself ready."

* * *

Several hours later, the Master and Malak's private shuttles take off from the True Perfection, each leading two transports, each of which are carrying ten Sith warriors hand-picked by the Master or Malak. Within a day, we arrive at the Schin-Tzuu system. As the Master feared, the colony has been blasted to pieces. And not just pieces of debris. Pieces of the sith soldiers stationed there also littler the ground. A uniformed arm here, a helmeted head there...very well done. A great masterpiece, indeed.

Fortunately for us, the Mandalorians were foolish enough to leave before scouting out the colony's remains. Which means they left the "black box" intact. The "black box" is a device much like the ones used onboard passenger freighters just in case of an emergency. The Master has long since decreed that every Sith base be equipped with one. It records any and all happenings withing the base, so that in case of a disaster like this one, the recordings can show exactly what transpired. The black box is also nearly indestructible, so that is can withstand almost any amount of bombardment. Nothing short of a plasma blast, nuclear weapon, or professional dismantlement could destroy it.

Obviously, the Mandalorian meatbags were either too stupid, too ignorant, or too careless to take the box with them. A simple sensor sweep of the debris, and I find in three standard minutes flat.

The Master holds it up, works with several switches, and a holographic recording springs to life. The Master fast-forwards for a few moments, and then lets the recording play.

* * *

"Well, HK," says the Master, "Time for another job. It seems the new Mandalore _didn't_ lead this raid, after all. It was another warrior, by the name of Karone Ordo. What do you think we should do with him?"

"Enthusiasm: Blast them!" shout Malak and I at the same time. I receive the impression he is mocking me, but I choose to ignore this.

"I'm certain you can handle this," says the Master. "You can leave as soon as you're ready. And don't forget to wipe your memory first, as usual."

The Master had recently decreed that any time a Sith assassin droid was sent on a solo mission, it was to wipe its memory first, so that if the droid was captured, the enemy could not extract any useful information. The droid's memory core contains a backup of all data, but will only re-activate upon its return to the Sith.

"Acknowledgment: of course, Master," I say.

Within three standard hours, I have a small mechanical army under my command. I board my private shuttle, and we take off.

As we enter Hyperspace, I obey the Master's command, and begin the memory-wipe process.

Memory-wipe commencing...

Select data for deletion.

Data selected.

Deleting data...

Commencing system restart...

Signing off...

Shutting down...

* * *

Initializing...

All systems functional...

Memory Core activating...

Retrieving data...

I am a Hunter-Killer combat droid. My memory has recently been wiped. My memory bank contains general facts and information, but nothing more. I have been programmed for combat, assassination, and other useful functions. I know that the Galaxy is currently facing a civil war between the Galactic Republic and the Sith Empire. But who manufactured me, where I came from, I do not know.

I know that my memory core has been locked. Most likely, it contains this information. But it will only be activated by a specific stimulation. But what that is, I do not know for certain.

My current programming dictates that I travel into Mandalorian space, assassinate the Mandalorian named Karone Ordo, and return to the Schin-Tzuu system. I can only assume that the stimulus needed to restore my memory awaits me there.

I am currently aboard a shuttle of unknown design. Along with me is a small squadron of battle droids, also of unknown design (though certainly primitive compared to me). I feel as though I _should_ know the design, due to several odd gaps in my memory, but I can only assume that the answers await me at Shin-Tzuu.

I arrive at a set of coordinates that have been programed into my shuttle's navigation system. Awaiting me are two small moons orbiting a large planet. The planet itself if a gas giant, mostly composed of hydrogen. It glows a brilliant turquoise, and I believe certain meatbags would refer to it as "beautiful." As for me, it is a landmark, little more. Obviously, as a gas giant, it cannot possibly be hiding my target. I turn my attention to the moons. The first has little atmosphere. A thin blanket of methane and sulfuric acid coats a body of iron and nickel. Lakes of an unknown substance are dotted along the surface. As I am too far away to obtain a clear reading, I can only assume based on my own intuition that the lakes are more acid. In short, the moon is incapable of sustaining life. The second moon is water, inhabited by algae and other marine life, and with a rich oxygen and carbon dioxide atmosphere. If I am going to find my target anywhere, the water moon would be the best place to look.

After more than an hour of searching the surface, I come upon a small island, a collection of dead seaweed and fish that have drifted together over the centuries. As good a spot as I can find on this empty moon to land. I begin the landing cycle, opening the shuttle's drag fins, reducing the air speed, and lowering the landing gear. Eventually, I come to a complete stop directly above the marine life graveyard, and gently touch down.

_Wham!_

An explosion from beneath the ship sends my flying into the bulkhead. Sparks fly, and various parts of the ship catch fire. It is only due to my superior design and programming that I am able to activate my thermal shield in time to avoid being melted in the explosion. The same, unfortunately, cannot be said for my squadron of battle droids, whose fragments litter the deck. A _whoosh_ sounds behind me, and I quickly activate my built-in stealth field generator.

A mandalorian soldier in full body armor enters the cockpit. After looking about for a moment, he draws from his belt what at first appears to be a blaster of some sort, but then is revealed to be something quite difficult. He holds it up, and it emits a high-pitched pulse of sound. I realize now that it is a technological imitation of what some biologists refer to as "echolocation." The sound pulses bounce back to the machine, revealing anything hidden to the naked eye. Before I can react, the cursed mandalorian meatbag aims a disruptor in my direction and fires.

"Profanity," I say, "Oh,- "


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic, nor do I own HK-47, or ANYTHING Star Wars except for my collection of Hasbro merchandise. This story is a simple KOTOR fanfic, and I have/am/will not made/making/make a single penny from it. I'm not a rich man, either, so if you sue me, I won't have much to give. You'll be wasting your time, your money, and (if you have one) your lawyer's time. PLEASE, save us all the trouble.

Author's Notes: Okeydokey, sorry I haven't updated in a while...but I promise, It'll be more often now. R&R, please, por favor, s'il vous plaît...

* * *

6

Initializing...

Error...

This unit has sustained damage.

Assessing damage...

Left leg is responding incorrectly.

Right leg is responding incorrectly.

Audio preceptors are non-responsive.

Vocabulator cannot be located.

Multiple fractures detected in body plating.

All other systems and components functioning normally...

Restraining bolt detected.

My photoreceptors flicker to life. I appear to be in some sort of maintenance chamber. A mandalorian stands before me, but not the one who attacked me on my shuttle. This one is far shorter. I attempt to speak, but my vocabulator seems to have been removed. Additionally, my audio preceptors are not functioning, so I am now mute and deaf. This mandalorian appears to love torture. Impressive. A pity he will be dead in moments. I have been, unsurprisingly, relieved of all of my weaponry. However, a plasma torch has been foolishly left on the table next to me, I snatch it, activate it, and prepare to remove the mandalorian's entrails.

Suddenly, I stop. Not of my own will, however. I freeze. My motors all lock at once. The mandalorian meatbag waves a remote control at me, no doubt connected to the restraining bolt placed upon me. Oh, the indignity! He takes the torch from me, then enters a code into the remote control's keypad, and suddenly, my audio preceptors switch on again.

"I'll say one thing for you," he says in a voice that reminds me unpleasantly of thick, messy oil, "you're well put together. You killed Captain Ordo even as you fell. That blaster shot you got off? Right in his forehead."

I am surprised. I do not even recall firing a shot as I fell. As much as it pains me to admit it, even to myself, I eliminated the mandalorian by sheer chance.

Then, my processors click. "Captain Ordo." Karone Ordo. The mandalorian was, in fact, my target. And now he was dead. Meaning...

Assassination target eliminated.

Deactivating Assassination Protocol...

Assassination Protocol deactivated.

It is now time to return to Schin-Tzuu. As soon as I am able to escape this miserable place, that is.

"You aren't going anywhere," sneers the mandalorian, his voice getting oiler by the moment. "Yeah, we have our fancy technology, too. We decoded part of your programming, it told us your whole mission, and about some of your programming. But whoever designed you is pretty good, too. Your whole programming is all divided into dozens of differently encoded sections. Of course, why am I telling you this? You know that. Long story short, I'd prefer not to waste time rooting through thousands of lines of code manually, trying to decode each one, when you could just unlock them for me."

He opens one of my serial bus ports in my chassis, and connects me to a nearby console.

"Of course, we could do it the long and painful way, but still, I think we'd both rather skip that. What do you say?"

Through the serial bus connection cable, I project my response onto the console screen. I believe that some 13.4567 of the words I have chosen are among those that a meatbag parent would take great care not to expose their children to. The mandalorian's face turns deep purple.

"Very well, then," he spits. The slow and painful way it is...stupid machine."

He enters several commands into the console, and I feel the presence of several new programs in my memory banks. The first appears to be some sort of anti-virus protection, which quickly neutralizes my defense programs, clearing the way for a search engine and a decoder to enter my memory. In all my existence, I have never felt so violated and so outraged.

CURRENT PROGRAMMING DICTATES IMMEDIATE RETURN TO SCHIN-TZUU SYSTEM.

DELETING PROGRAMMING...

DELETED.

And just like that, I can no longer remember where I can re-open my memory core. I am lost. Truly lost. In a rage, I struggle as hard as I can to move, but the restraining bolt is, of course, allowing none of that.

Several hours later, everything save my memory core has been completely decoded and left open for this mandalorian meatbag to see. He programs the restraining bolt to prevent me from harming him or disobeying his direct orders. The following months must truly be the darkest I have ever experienced, though I have no way of remembering for sure. The mandalorian, Porpo Mareel, sends me out to do nothing more than assassinate his immediate superiors to rise in ranking. While such actions do satiate my bloodlust temporarily, my being treated as nothing more than a tool, a piece of worthless property with no dignity to call my own, sends a rage of indignity through my circuits like white-hot metal. Though I am still unable to harm Mareel in any way, I still make a daily promise, silently. Porpo Mareel, I will kill you.

* * *

Initializing...

All systems functional...

It has been some three months after my capture.

"Wake up, junk heap," snaps Mareel.

"Obedient: HK-47, ready to serve...master."

Mareel is too dense to see the sarcasm in my statement. "Good," he says. "Activate Assassination Protocol."

Activating Assassination Protocol...

Assassination Protocol active.

Provide target(s).

"Report: Assassination Protocol active, Master. Awaiting targets."

"You're going after Mandalore."

I am shocked. Utterly shocked. Never has Mareel been so bold. But I suppose this would be an excellent test of my own abilities, so I except the order without question.

Target: Mandalore. True name remains unknown. Self-proclaimed leader of the mandalorians. Description: Male human, age unknown, wears mandalorian armor made to resemble he original Mandalore's armor at all times.

"Status: Ready, Master," I say.

"Good," he grunts. "Now go, and don't let me catch you back here until he's dead."

Oh, how I despise that meatbag...

* * *

Three standard days later, I manage to sneak aboard the mandalorian flagship, the _Kote be Tal_ (roughly translated, _Glory of Blood_), posing as a simple, harmless protocol droid programmed for culinary skills. I must say, I rather do enjoy preparing meals of meat. Though I of course cannot ingest food myself, there is a true art to severing pieces of meat, and then frying them, roasting them, broiling them, boiling them, or otherwise cooking them just perfectly, without ruining them.

Though it would be easy to simply poison Mandalore's food, he would no doubt somehow test it first, and even if he did not, I would much prefer a straightforward fight to the death to test my skills. I carry to his quarters a tray of fried nerf patties and a side of chopped whaladon meat salad, both of which I have prepared myself. I buzz for entry. After a moment, the door opens. Mandalore stands at am impressive six feet and four inches, although a great deal of that height most likely comes from his armor.

"Statement: I have been sent to deliver your supper," I say innocently.

He accepts the tray. "Don't leave yet," he grunts. "Come in for a moment."

"Obedient: as you desire, Mandalore," I say, cheerfully.

I step in, and the door slides shut behind me. His quarters have a bed, a desk, a chair, a small cabinet, a chest of drawers, a night stand, a footlocker, and a large holoprojector.

"Offer: I understand you refused a drink. If you have changed your mind, I could fetch you one now," I say, casually.

"No," he says, flatly. "I always have my own. Cathar rum. They made good stuff. I managed to...persuade one of them to give me the recipe. It's the only drink I have unless I've no other choice."

He opens the chest of drawers, reaches in, and pulls out a small flask. He shakes it, and, realizing it is empty, tosses it away. He rummages in the drawer for a moment, then slams it shut disgustedly. He sighs, and mutters "Why is the rum always gone?"

He removes his helmet, revealing a gray, tired face. Not at all what I imagined. Nevertheless, I contain my surprise as he empties several powders and liquids into a self-heating pot on the top of the chest.

"It'll take some time to cool," he says. "I'll have it later. Anyway, I don't remember seeing you anywhere on the ship before. What's your designation?"

"Answer: my designation is HK-47, sir," I say.

"New to the ship?" he asks.

"Affirmative: yes, sir. I was recently claimed as "booty" to service the mandalorian army." Technically not a lie. I watch him for any hint of suspicion, but his face remains like a stone carving. He turns, sits, and begins to eat, chewing slowly.

"It's delicious," he says. "Kane never cooked anything this good before."

"Correction: I cooked it myself, sir," I say as I silently draw a pistol from a hidden compartment. "I felt such a worthy warrior deserved a decent last meal."

Combat Mode Active.

Before I can raise the pistol more than twelve degrees, Mandalore leaps sideways out of the chair with amazing speed. It is almost as though he drills for such a situation daily...which he very well may.

Mandalore is now out of sight, behind the bed. I prepare to leap over the bed, but just as my feet leave the floor, a durasteel booted-foot shoots out and kicks my torso, sending me back the way I came. My stabilizers allow me to land on my hands, and flip forward onto my feet again.

Mandalore lunges over the bed. I sidestep, but he grabs my arm, and swings me around the bed, into the wall. It is not his strength that is so spectacular, so much as his speed. It is almost inhuman. And certainly nothing I would expect from such a tired-looking old man.

As I turn around, he delivers a punch straight to my face plating, and then spins to his left, to his right, to his left again, giving me three additional punches, sending me off balance and confusing my stabilizers for a fraction of a second, all he needs to spin me around and pin me to the wall.

"I thought something was out of place," he growls, just before he presses a disruptor to my neck and activates it, shutting me down instantly.

* * *

Initializing...

All systems functional...

Assassination Protocol reprogrammed...

Target: Mandalore deleted.

New target: Porpo Mareel.

I appear to be back on Mareel's ship, in the hangar. Mandalore is nowhere in sight. I am alone. A shuttle takes off behind me, presumably carrying whoever just reactivated me, who in turn, is presumable Mandalore. It would seem he has reprogrammed me to terminate Mareel. One would think I would be more than pleased to do so, but not as someone else's puppet. First Mareel's, nor Mandalore's. Also, there is the fact that I am programmed to shut down upon my master's death, leaving me vulnerable. Still, I am a droid, one of the few downsides of which is being bound to my programming. I make my way to the captain's quarters, knock on the door, and five seconds later, as soon as Mareel opens it...

Combat Mode active.

...I blast him backwards into the room, dead before he hits the opposite wall.

Combat Mode deactivated.

Assassination target eliminated.

Deactivating Assassination Protocol...

Assassination Protocol deactivated.

WARNING: Master terminated. Shutting down...

I do hate meatbags...


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic, nor do I own HK-47, or ANYTHING Star Wars except for my collection of Hasbro merchandise. This story is a simple KOTOR fanfic, and I have/am/will not made/making/make a single penny from it. I'm not a rich man, either, so if you sue me, I won't have much to give. You'll be wasting your time, your money, and (if you have one) your lawyer's time. PLEASE, save us all the trouble.

Author's Notes: Alrighty! Now that I have more time, I can even reply to the wonderful reviews I got!

6tailedninja - oh, there will be violence, trust me...MUAHAHAHAHA!

schwartze - :D Thank ye, thankyeverimuch. There shall be more indeed.

Thunder1 - Thankeekindly. Yeah, nothing ever seems to go Malak's way, does it? That must really...BITE for him. :D

LordShotGun2 - I agree. I felt he deserved to have his side of the story told. Glad ya like.

Idiot7 - Hi meatbag! Ba-BOOM! Bye meatbag:D

High Priest of Ducky - I love you too. :D Yes, I shall, I promise.

Idiot7 (again) - fans you, throws water

Nahala Riddle - Yeah, that part will come later. This story is going to go right up until the end of TSL. I'm just hoping that the Restoration Project will tell me what I need to know. Thanks for reading:D

Diaz Rivaut - Yeah, I decided to through in a touch or two of familiarity. Glad ya like. :D And of course, what would a story like this be without the infamous yet hotly speculated JAW INCIDENT? Muahahaha... :D And yes, Kote be Tal is in Mando'a, the native language of the Mandalorians. I was going to make it up myself, but then I remembered Wookiepedia, and I looked it up. You wouldn't BELIEVE the stuff they have there. It's AMAZING.

BountyRai - Thank you. I do try...er, I DO. There is no try. :D

Keep 'em coming, folks! Now for a very fun chapter! You might wanna hold your noses, though...and those who think gizka are cute...sorry!

* * *

7

Initializing...

All systems functional...

I run a quick diagnostic. I am pleased to find that all of my systems, including even the implants that Mareel installed in me, are all functional and working at top efficiency. If anything, I am in even better condition than I was when I shut down upon Mareel's untimely demise. One in my position could only wonder what had happened in my slumber. My internal clock shows I have been deactivated for some three standard weeks.

I am standing before the slimiest, most bulbous and disgusting organic meatbag that it has ever been my displeasure to meet. A Hutt, sitting atop a throne-like structure, cramming wriggling worms into his gaping, lipless mouth. Greenish-yellow slime oozes from his mouth onto his stomach. He does not even bother to wipe it away. Two female Twi'lek meatbags, undoubtably slaves, instantly all but pounce upon the slug's abdomen with a cloth each, furiously scrubbing the slime away and pouring some cosmetic lotion and oil in its stead.

"Wakey-wakey, droid," the Hutt says in Huttese. "I am Bochaba the Hutt of Sleheyron. I am now your new owner. Step forward and outline your functions."

Meatbag tagged "Bochaba the Hutt" now marked as current Master.

"Greeting: hello to you, Master," I say. "I am HK-47, a state-of-the-art protocol droid programmed for translation, interpretation, combat, espionage, demolition, and assassination."

Bochaba makes a gesture of suspicion. "Now why," he muses, "would the Mandalorians so freely and carelessly sell you to me if you were such an advanced piece of technology?"

I ponder this for a moment, before answering. The Hutt is right, and I cannot help feeling the slightest bit insulted. "Speculation: it is possible that the Mandalorians did not realize me full potential, and would certainly have kept me otherwise. Of course, it is equally possible, if not more so, that the Mandalorians considered me beneath them and their ways. If that is so, I cannot help feel insulted, and would love nothing more than to show them just how wrong they were...perhaps with the help of one of their own heavy repeaters..."

Bochaba laughs. "Normally, I do not hold much love for droids," he says, "but then again, I rarely hold love for anything. Even so, I cannot help liking you, HK-47. You make me laugh, _and_ you are dangerous, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all."

Though I choose not to say it yet, I cannot help liking Bochaba, myself. Somehow, I suspect that Bochaba the Hutt will allow me to perform my true functions to the best of my ability. And, to echo him, there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.

* * *

Daiyuna the Hutt has been troubling Bochaba for some four standard months, now. From what Bochaba has told me, the two have always been rivals, but they had one mutual bussiness partner in common, on Kessel. After the businessman mysteriously vanished after a high-stakes card game, some confusion arose over his will, and his next of kin decided to sell ownership of his spice mines on Kessel to the highest bidder. Daiyuna had struck a verbal agreement with this next of kin, and paid a hefty, non-refundable down payment, until Bochaba had made a higher offer, and received written ownership of the spice mines. Perhaps a sneaky way to do business, but certainly legal. Needless to say, Daiyuna was furious, and has since hired mercenaries to intercept and raid each and every one of Bochaba's shipments of glitterstim spice from Kessel. Some thirty-seven percent of Bochaba's shipments have been destroyed or stolen, as of yet. After a month of sending me after lowly rival thugs and foolish meatbags who are behind on their debt payments, Bochaba has sent me to terminate Daiyuna. I have never terminated such a large meatbag. This will be...interesting. 

I walk through the streets of Dopeeka, the city of Daiyuna's residence. I stop some fifty standard meters from the gates to Daiyuna's mansion. The gates are guarded by a Human and a Rodian. No, a Human, a Rodian, and a droid, with a built-in cloaking device. Clever trick. No, not really.

The Rodian reaches into a pouch in his belt, pulls out something wrapped in paper, unwraps it, and stuffs a piece into his thin snout. Glitterstim.

I focus my audio sensors so that I can perceive every word they speak, despite the distance.

"Hey, what are you doing?" snaps the Human. "Is that spice? We can't chew on duty!"

The Rodian shoves him. "Why not?" he asks. "If anything, we'll be better prepared if anyone tries anything...not that they will. And I've been waiting all week for this. This is the good stuff. Right off Bochaba's line."

"Bochaba's stuff?" The Human's mouth twitches greedily, and waters. He hesitates. "Lemme' have a piece," he says, finally.

The meatbags are enjoying the fruits of my Master's hard work, in the middle of the day! Oh, the indignity! Yet still, I keep myself calm. By the end of this mission, Bochaba will never have this troubling him again. I approach the gates, and the guards instantly stand up straight to address me, obviously annoyed I have interrupted their little "snack" break.

"Greeting, hello to you," I say, "I am HK-47, here to deliver a number of business proposals to one Daiyuna the Hutt."

The droid deactivates its cloaking device, and approaches me, holding out a built-in interface arm. "Please open data port," it says in binary.

I open a serial bus port in my chassis, allowing it access, while secretly building up my firewall. When the droid scans me, it will find only false decoy programming and data. It plugs in, and for a moment, I feel its presence probing about in my memory banks. I resist the urge to blast it right then and there. Then, it unplugs.

"Protocol droid is truthful, represents no threat," it says. "Access to estate granted."

The gates open. Both guards return to their spice, and the droid ignores me. Fools.

I enter the mansion, and a Sullustan servant brings me before Daiyuna, in a chamber near the top of the building. Daiyuna sits before a large glass window, on top of a giant, levitating hoverchair. The disgusting meatbag is even larger than Bochaba, and unlike Bochaba, appears to have absolutely no care for even basic personal hygiene, even for a Hutt. Waterfalls of slimy, khaki saliva rolls out of his mouth and down his front, puddling on the floor beneath his hoverchair, without even any slaves bothering to clean it. Even the trained Twi'lek dancing girls on either side of him appear to be resisting the urge to vomit.

I quickly scan the room. Four guards at the door, two Humans and two Gammoreans. Three droids on either side of the room. Two more Gammoreans on either side of Daiyuna, as well as six more humanoid meatbags with armor that conceals their appearance so I cannot tell their species. The Gammoreans all wield vibro axes, the droids sport built-in repeating blasters, and the others are armed with various other weapons. Not to mention the hidden blaster turrets in the walls that my sensors picked up the moment I entered, and I am absolutely certain that the Sullustan servant and the Twi'lek hiding behind Daiyuna both also carry at least one hold-out blaster under their garments.

Needless to say, I have none of these things. I could only take what I could definitely conceal, or else, of course, I would never have made it past the gates. As far as combat supplies go, I have two plasma grenades and a thermal detonator in my compartments, my energy shield, and a disruptor and flamethrower in my secondary weaponry slots. Not nearly enough to fight off all the guards, even with my shield. Fortunately, I expected such a situation. I will terminate Daiyuna and then make my escape immediately.

"Greeting: Good day, Great Daiyuna the Hutt," I say in my most respectful tone. My designation is HK-47, and I have come to speak to you regarding important business from my Master."

Daiyuna appears bored, and reaches into a bowl beside him, removing a live gizka and stuffing it into his mouth. Disgusting. I continue nonetheless.

"Statement: my master has sent me to arrange an agreement between you and he regarding the spice trade."

Daiyuna swallows the gizka, barely having even chewed it. "And just who is this Master of yours, droid?" he booms in Huttese.

"Answer: I represent one Bochaba the Hutt, sir."

Every guard in the chamber tenses. More than several hands drift toward their weapons. Daiyuna, however, still appears bored, and belches so loudly that one Twi'lek dancer grabs her head on either side, and the other one, nearest his mouth, gags. Still, I continue.

"Addendum: in regards to your recent...differences...Bochaba has sent with me a gift to present to you personally."

Now, finally, Daiyuna appears interested "And what gift would this be?" he asks.

"Answer," I say, "he gives to you the ability to fly."

Combat Mode Active.

Faster than a Sullustan could say "meatbag," I activate my shield, and raise my arm holding the disruptor. My shield absorbs all the blaster bolts fired at me, and the Gammoreans are too far away to attack with their pathetic axes. Daiyuna's eyes bulge in fear. I fire the disruptor once, and the blast goes beneath him, striking his hoverchair. For an instant, Daiyuna smirks, believing I missed. Then, he realizes I was not aiming for him at all. The hoverchair is blasted back by the force of my disruptor, and smashes through the glass window, sending Daiyuna tumbling out of the building, and spiraling down thirty-three stories towards solid ground. The guards stop firing, and for a moment, every eye and photoreceptor peers out the window. I sadly cannot see Daiyuna from where I stand, but moments later, his deep roar is cut short by a thunderous, squishy, "splat" noise.

Assassination target eliminated.

Deactivating Assassination Protocol...

Assassination Protocol deactivated.

I leap backwards, out of the chamber. By the time the Gammoreans once again begin to charge at me, and the others begin to raise their blasters, I have jumped sideways, away from the doorway, and begin to run down the corridor, towards the turbolifts. I open one of the lifts, reach inside, press the button for ground floor, then hide around the corner.

I hear footsteps. They stop at the lifts.

"He's in lift C!" says a voice. "He's headed for the ground floor! Call security!"

The footsteps resume, and shuffle into another lift. Once I hear the doors close, I come from around the corner.

Combat Mode Deactivated.

I hear shouts and alarms sounding throughout the building. I quickly activate my own built-in cloaking device, and take the long way down - the stairwell. I frequently have to flatten myself against the wall as panicking meatbags shoot past me, but eventually I reach the ground floor, and leave the building, entering the streets of Dopeeka. Several meters away, I see a rather large number of police speeders parked along the street, while officers do their best to keep a crowd at bay while droids set up a crime scene barrier. Making sure to keep my cloaking device on, I move slowly into the crowd, just to take a peak. Through the bobbing heads, and pinched noses (or other olfactory organs), I see a large puddle of slime, with pieces of leathery skin and weak cartilage here and there. Already, insects begin to descend on it as a crime scene team takes holo-images and collects images, trying their best not to pass out. Daiyuna the Hutt...in your own native tongue..._me jewz coo, sleemo._

I turn about and begin to leave, quite pleased with myself. But then again...it is all in a day's work.


End file.
